


Color Me Revolution

by ratedgrandr



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Tattooed Grantaire, Tattoos, femmejolras, they are so sexy ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratedgrandr/pseuds/ratedgrandr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is preparing for the biggest battle against the government yet, but he can’t do it on his own, so the student hires a local tattoo artist, Grantaire, to help out him and his gang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color Me Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this is kind of just an introduction? Next chapter will be fun omg can't wait ok?! Ok. YAY FEMMEJOLRAS OK.

The bell above the door of the little tattoo parlor rings and none of the artists in the back room bother to look up and see who has entered. They book mostly appointments now, and walk-ins are greeted by their overly friendly (and overly flirty) secretary who was hired only a few weeks ago. One of the artist's pieces was featured in an art magazine, and the sudden exposure had brought in a decent crowd. It also meant said artist's schedule is much tighter these days, and he was forced to spend more time on work and less on sex, drugs and alcohol which he has always been quite partial to. And while Grantaire is the artist they all come in for, each of the others benefitted from his new business. He doesn’t bother raising his eyes to see who has come in either, for he’s sure it was just another usual customer looking for something slightly provocative but still artistic from him and he would get to them when he could. For now he’s busy, tracing streaks of black ink across porcelain skin, feeling a rush at the way the stark colors contrasted and united so perfectly. His work is everything, and he takes it very seriously. It was this girl’s third time in the shop, and with each visit the vivid side piece she’d depicted through beautiful words was slowly coming to fresh life, as if the flowers etched there longed for the sun and had a life of their own.

“Grantaire, someone’s here for you.” He could practically hear Katie popping her gum and grips his gun tighter, resisting the urge to use harsh words to take her down a notch and remind her that she’s just supposed to take messages for him because goddamnit, had she startled him two seconds sooner the whole piece would have been ruined. Instead he inhales deeply through his nose, rubbing his temple with his gloved hand and letting his bloodshot blue eyes slide closed for a moment, welcoming the cool darkness. He’s been battling a headache since lunch time, and if he could just catch a break it would easily be relieved. But he’s had back to back appointments all day and it’s all weighing heavily upon him and if he could just get a little release he would be fine.

Calm down, his mind hisses at him as he sucks in another deep breath. “Just take a note, I don’t have time for someone right now,” he mutters as he opened his eyes and glares purposefully at the secretary. She squirms under his gaze but doesn’t leave, just itchs her forearm and huffs slightly.

“I told him I’d take a note, he said it was urgent, couldn’t wait...” her voice holds a hint of nervousness and she’s shifting from foot to foot, and for a millisecond he feels bad for snapping. It wasn’t completely her fault, she just lacked a few brain cells and that was uncontrollable.

Grantaire sighs and looks over his work once more as the girl on the chair feebly flexs her arm which is numb from it’s positioning. “Well, it’s my someone’s lucky day. Shay, I can’t do much more until these lines set...” he informs the woman as he carefully cleans up the blotched red skin, admiring his handiwork as he goes and looking for any looming imperfections. But Grantaire doesn’t make mistakes, even when his hands are shaking slightly and he feels like hell from partying a bit too hard last night. “You’ve got your next appointment scheduled?” She nods and slides her t-shirt back on, wincing slightly as it brushes over the tender skin where Grantaire has been working. “Right, Katy will see you out. You can send whoever it is in but tell them to make it quick because I have another appointment in... fuck, fifteen minutes. Goddamn.” He’s sick of being exhausted and worked to the bone after long days of appointments, but a living is a living and he has to get over it he supposes.

With a few more deep breaths, Grantaire busies himself with cleaning up his work area, stuffing sketches back into his book, tossing aside discarded ideas and useless scraps, shadows of things that would never be. He hadn’t even heard the someone enter the room and jumped, startled, when a voice sounded behind him.

“I need you.”

He looks up, a smirk on his lips as he turns with a quip ready on his lips. “Shouldn’t you be taking me to -- oh...” He stops mid-sentence, taken aback by the man standing before him. It isn’t anyone who matches the voice, and yet in a subtle way it’s a perfect fit. It has to do with the curls, he thinks, which are full and the perfect shade of blond that imitates gold beneath the dim light of the tattoo parlor. Those curls are tied loosely back yet bounce free of their restraints to perfectly frame a face that could have easily been made of fine porcelain. One of the man’s eyebrows is quirked, but his lips are set in an unwavering line, obviously completely unamused by Grantaire’s unfinished joke.

Grantaire might have finished the joke if those piercing eyes hadn’t conveyed the clear fact that any kind of joke like the one he’d almost made is completely prohibited. And he doesn’t understand what is currently going on but he knows that he has to listen to everything this stranger says, or else there would be consequences. It’s incredible how much body language can convey, he can’t help but think. “I don’t have time for your jokes,” the man says dismissively as he flicks an invisible piece of lint off of the sleeve of his tailored jacket. “I have a job proposition for you. Sit.”

Whatever this man’s angle is, it’s obviously working. Grantaire doesn’t question but silently falls into his chair, reclining back and spreading his knees slightly as his eyebrows arch and his eyes slowly take the man in. He’s statuesque in stature and slim, incredibly slim and Grantaire can’t help but think of how fragile he must be, how easily the man’s supple form would bend to him if given the opportunity. And damn, those jeans are tight, perfectly caressing and hugging and -- fuck, did he do that on purpose because Grantaire is absolutely positive he’s about to start drooling right then and there. “I saw some of your work in a tattoo magazine,” the blond says in a soft voice. All Grantaire can do is stare at those slender pink lips, full and perfectly sculpted as if they had been painted on by the hands of a careful, loving artist. “And I was impressed, which is... unusual. My friends say my appreciation for art is occasionally lacking. But your work...” Here he shakes his head, as if he’s not believing his words, “your work is rather astounding and shocking. I like that.”

All Grantaire can do is stare at him, at a loss for words because this is all rather overwhelming, even for a place like New York City. Sure, he has plenty of odd ‘business propositions,’ but never has a person been so formal with him. Never has a customer propositioned him for something, needing him and making him believe that no one else could do the job. “Thank you?” is all he can manage, his brows knit as he finally sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “If you want a tattoo we’ll have to do a consultation first, though, I can’t just --”

The stranger laughs for the first time, and it’s full of amusement, which travels to those crystalline blue eyes that can sear into souls and drag out it's truthfulness with just one glance. “No, no, I don’t want a tattoo. But it is an unconventional form of artwork. I assumed that since you’ve become accustomed to such eclectic canvases that a different medium and canvas-type would be a worthy adversary for you,” he says with a smirk on those lips that Grantaire can’t seem to quit staring at.

A soft sigh falls from Grantaire’s lips then, and he stands. “I’m not sure what you’re asking of me, truthfully...” He says as he runs a hair through the mess of black curls that fall into his warm brown eyes, eyes that have become utterly mesmerized by this stranger’s presence. And while he would like more time with the man, Grantaire’s patience has begun to wear thin. He doesn’t understand, and his customer has become so vague he’s wondering if this is even worth pursuing.

“It’s going to be a dangerous task... you could get arrested,” the man informs him with a soft sigh of his own, one that cascades from lips and sounds heavy with a sort of burden Grantaire might never understand. “But it will be worthwhile, I believe, and it’s for a good cause. And if you’re willing, I would require a few sessions this week until it’s finished, all after dark, and you will be paid in full once the project is finished.”

Illegal? Grantaire’s attention is immediately caught, and he meets that blue gaze once more. An air of entertainment hides deep within those orbs, almost as if he is challenging Grantaire, as if he expects Grantaire to back down from the challenge, and that in itself makes him want to take the job even more. “Alright, I’ll do it,” he agrees with a smirk. And for the first time, the stranger looks slightly unstable for he hadn’t actually expected an agreement. His smile falters, his eyes widen, and in less than a second that surprise is gone, replaced with a smugness that Grantaire thinks he wants to slap off of the man’s face.

“Perfect,” he drawls as he pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket and hands it over to Grantaire. “Read it over when you get home, if you don’t mind. I’ll meet you tomorrow at midnight at the specified location. And don’t dress too ostentatiously. We’re aiming for subtlety here,” the man smiles and tilts his head as if in farewell and turns on the heel of the leather knee high boots his wearing, but not before Grantaire can cross his arms and smirk, something the stranger catches from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t get a name to go with the face?” He asks cathartically, the words humming from his lips with amused lethargy.

The stranger looks over his shoulder with a bemused grin. “Does a name matter? One name out of thousands doesn’t make a difference when there is a higher calling.”

“Shall I just call you Apollo then? You seem much like him: a mighty god full of a beautiful light that springs hope from his footsteps and --”

“Enjolras will do, then.”

“Enjolras. Seems fitting,” Grantaire lets the name roll from his tongue, and it tastes delicious against his lips, a soft hum that flashes through him and is charged with an unexpected electricity.

And before more can be said Enjolras is gone, disappeared just as quickly as the sun disappears behind a rain cloud, leaving Grantaire in a shadow once more, longing for the rays that had only just warmed his soul.

\---

“You never told me your friend was a bit of an ass, Jehan.” Enjolras slides out of his jacket and hangs it on the appropriate hook, and a slight smirk is in place across his face as he takes a seat on the couch beside his blond friend who is busy scribbling in a journal.

“Who Grantaire? Oh, he’s harmless. Just a bit of a grouch when things aren’t going as he planned,” Jehan says with a shrug and a sidelong look at Enjolras. “Did he agree?”

“Of course he did, though I doubted him for a moment I admit,” Enjolras murmurs in an offhand tone as he pulls out his ipad and starts to work on something Jehan can’t see.

The poet only smirks as he turns back to his journal. “He’s attractive, isn’t he?” he hums in a knowing kind of way, a way that makes Enjolras roll his eyes and shake his head with a breath of a laugh.

“I didn’t actually notice. Couldn’t quite see past all the ink staining his skin.”

Jehan only hummed out a laugh. “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, Enjolras. Haven’t you learned that lesson yet?” he asks as he snaps his journal closed and curls into Enjolras’s side, resting his chin on the revolutionary’s shoulder and reading over it.

“One might think. But I’ve been known to have a thick skull. I have no plans on associating with this artist of yours once he’s accomplished his task. He’s only a pawn in my plan.”

“I wouldn’t say such things so quickly, my friend,” Jehan said with amused laughter.


End file.
